It'll Kill You
by i'llwait
Summary: a loosely connect series of chapters about relationships that connect the manga moments. includes royai, as well as friendship between riza and havoc, maes and roy, and etc.
1. Chapter 1

**disclaimer--sigh...no...i don't own fma, but i'm really close...see my mom's aunt's brother-in-law's first wife's second cousin's grandmother's sister's son's nephew's cousin is the mangaka, and i'm first in line to inherit if she dies. so if she dies anytime soon, i'll take over...even though i can't draw...**

**so i know i should be working on my 100 royai, but i'm taking a break to write something that has been kinda prodding me. this has a very loose plot, following the manga rather than the anime, though i might switch back and forth a little. this is NOT havocxhawkeye--the following scene is friendship, not romance, and if you think otherwise, i'll kill you. :)**

She sighed and took one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it out of her fingers.

"That'll kill you, you know," she heard from behind her. She turned and grinned at the sight of a moving ember in the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

She shrugged. "If the world is fair, you'll go first."

He laughed and came to stand beside her. "Have another," he offered from his pack. "Or you got one of your own?"

"Nah, I just ran out." She chose a cigarette and searched herself for her lighter. "You know, Havoc…this is a horrible thing you've introduced me to."

He shrugged and watched the flame flare into light, briefly illuminating Hawkeye's face. She held the lighter close to the end and it caught. With a flick, she closed the lighter and pocketed it, sitting down slowly. Shrugging, he joined her.

"These taste different from mine," she said softly, considering the cigarette in her hand.

"Different brands. Don't know where you get yours."

"I tried stopping, you know."

"Don't. It's hard. I've tried."

"You're right. I can't seem to do it."

Havoc shrugged. "Yeah. It's something to do. I told you back then."

"Yeah. Doesn't seem like we've gotten anywhere from then though."

"In the war, no."

She sighed and glanced at her watch. "I got to go, but here, finish it off for me," she said, handing him the rest of her cigarette. He grinned at her quizzically, holding a cigarette in each hand.

She shrugged and smiled back. "Waste not want not."

He sighed and flicked the ask off hers. "Whatever."

"I should never have let you hook me."

He looked up at her, suddenly serious. "I knew I didn't have matches. And I didn't need a cigarette, either."

She blinked, surprised, and then smiled a little. "All right. Thank you, I suppose."

He shrugged.

"See ya around."

"Yeah. See ya." He brought the cigarette to his lips and let it linger there, without sucking in his breath. He could taste her lip balm or whatever on the butt, and it was strangely intimate.

Was he falling in love with her?

No, that wasn't it. She was too much of a hardass for him to go for her…plus he liked a fuller figure. No, it was more of a sense of comfort. He'd never really had a female friend, and precious few male ones. He'd left them all behind when he'd signed up for the military, and now, it was nice to have another one.

Very nice, indeed, he thought, finally inhaling.

**review, review! since i'm not making money off of this, the least you can do for me is make me happy, right? about the line "i knew i didn't have matches. and i didn't need a cigarette either," has a backstory, which will be the next chapter, so it's okay that you're confused right there. so tell me what else i did wrong, okay? **


	2. Chapter 2

**sorry for the long wait. this chapter was kind of hell trying to get out. i didn't want to make riza look like a wuss, which i'm still not sure i achieved. the following might be a little shocking, plot wise, but all i can say is: it's not not in the manga, if you catch my meaning :D**

_She was staring emptily into the horizon when he had come to sit by her. _

"_That'll kill you, you know," she said without emotion, as he lit a cigarette. _

_He had just shrugged. He had clicked the lighter and sworn softly. "Got a light, babe?"_

_She had once gotten herself riled up for much less than a man calling her babe. "Sure," she had responded dully, reaching into her pocket and bringing out a matchbook. "Here."_

_He had stuck the match and looked at her curiously. Most women would have frowned at him and refused, even if they had matches on them. "You look exhausted," he observed, taking his first drag._

_She shrugged._

_He breathed out, the smoke coming out of him like it was part of his breath. "Do you mind the smell?"_

"_I'm used to the smell of burning things. It seems like I was born in fire, sometimes."_

_He nodded and took another drag. "The war makes you feel that way sometimes."_

_Riza shrugged again. He didn't know half of her world was immersed in fire, and the other half linked to it. _

_"Havoc," he said, reaching out his hand. "Private Jean Havoc."_

"_Riza Hawkeye," she said, shaking it quietly._

_He hesitated. She was cute. Nice eyes, pretty good ass, not so curvy as he liked, but sweet-looking. There was something in her eyes that forbid him to hit on her. Not the cold death-bringing glace she would perfect later in her life, but a removed kind of emptiness. Like she wasn't all there. "You all right?"_

_She shrugged._

"_I don't know you, darling, but you look like shit."_

"_Yeah, well. What happens when you spend months looking for someone and find him as lost as you are?"_

_His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're lost?"_

"_Maybe." She shrugged. "Or maybe I'm just kidding myself."_

_He sighed, and reached into his pocket. "Want a cigarette?"_

_She hesitated. "They're bad for you."_

"_Doesn't stop them from being amazing."_

_She wasn't sure why, but she took one. She put it in her mouth and brought out the matchbook again, lighting it carefully. _

_Then, slowly, she inhaled._

_She started coughing immediately, inhaling fresh air._

_He smiled. "That happens, on the first drag."_

_She nodded, and determined to succeed, inhaled again. The smoke was bitter and tasted like hell, but there was a strange comfort in inhaling things that didn't belong in her body. She breathed out and jumped as the smoke came out of her nose. Then she smiled._

_It was the first time she had smiled in a long time._

"_You can depend on these," he said quietly. _

"_I see."_

"_Here," he said, handing her the rest of his pack. "Keep 'em." _

"_I'm not sure if I should," she said, a little afraid of what she had been handed. Cigarettes are bad, she had been told, and so far, she had no reason to disbelieve the fact._

"_Take them," he said, and stood. "And the next time you think about suicide, take a nice drag, all right?"_

_She stared at him, the cigarette falling out of her mouth onto the ground. "I wasn't—"_

_She stopped as he glared at her. "I might not be very smart," he said slowly, "but even I can see that."_

_"You don't know--" but again, he cut her off. _

_I'm not judging you," he said carefully. "Hell, how can a failure judge anything? I've failed at everything in my life. But I'm still going."_

_She was silent. She had never failed at anything before. Even when it had hurt her, she had succeeded.   
_

_ "But my tent is over there." He stopped talking to point. "If you ever feel like that again, come have a cigarette with me before you do anything."_

_He gave her a mock salute, and left._

_She stared at the ground and picked up her still-burning cigarette, blinking and not even bothering to brush it off before she put it back in her mouth._

_What he hell was she doing? She asked herself. She couldn't die. There was no point in dying. Even if she was alone. Even if he did look at her like he barely recognized her…_

_This was her life, damn it. Why the hell was she playing games with herself?_

_She inhaled as if she would die without the cigarette, though she had never taken one before in her life. _

_Even if he had left her…surely she wasn't so stupid as to take it personally?_

_She inhaled again, the smoke whispering out of her mouth like a secret._

_Why was he here? She would find out. What did he want? She would find it with him. What did he need? She would find it for him._

_She breathed out slowly, the clean air rushing into her lungs like a lifesaver. She glanced at the cigarette and frowned. It would kill her. But until she found something to live for, it would do.  
_

**well, tell me what you thought. hopefully you can see where this went, and if you're confused, pm me or leave a review so i can figure out how to make it less confusing. also, i will warn you now, everything here will just be interactions between people, so if you're looking for a little violence on the side, i don't know if you'll get it. Second thing--this is a MANGA based plot, so spoilers for the rest of your life, okay? sweet...  
**

**REVIEW!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**and here you are! chapter 3...i realize i'm not naming these chapters, cuz i'm just bad at that :P as usual, spoilers...in fact i'm not gonna say it again. SPOILERS ARE HERE, and that applies for the rest of the entire length of the thing, okay?**

He took a bite slowly, and let the taste linger in his mouth before he chewed.

"This stuff could get addictive," he muttered to his friend, before swallowing.

"Tell me about it," Maes answered, taking another slice of the apple pie. "She's so damn good at everything."

Mustang smiled slowly, taking another bite.

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you thinking?" His friend's eyes were too dull for his liking.

He shook his head, and sighed. "I don't know."

Maes sighed. "Come on. Tell me."

"I…he stopped, thought for a moment, and then spoke again. "I saw her eyes, and I realized…its my fault, Maes. Everything."

He looked surprised, but said nothing, letting his friend continue.

"How many people do I have to kill before they're satisfied? And then I had to drag that girl into this."

"What girl?"

"Hawkeye."

"The sniper?"

"Yeah."

"What about her?"

"I know why she's here, Maes. She's here because of me."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. I know how she works."

He sighed. "So I'm assuming she's a…friend…of yours?"

"A friend. No pauses please."

"I see. And?"

"And what?"

"What exactly is the story?"

"Oh. Her father is my master."

"Romance?"

"None. Well, maybe a little, but not enough that you could say we were together."

Maes sighed. "Then why would she come find you?"

Roy looked too serious, all of a sudden. "Because I'm all she has left."

Maes looked surprised.

"And I left her, while she was hurt."

"Why?"

Roy sighed and leaned back. "I don't know. She seems so…strong, Maes. So damn strong. A woman who would carry you to the finish line if you couldn't get there yourself. That's what she did with her father, you know. She wouldn't let him die of starvation, because that man was so involved with his stupid learning he would have."

"Rough childhood?"

"You don't know the half of it…" he paused. "Even I don't know more than I've seen…the bastard used her…like she was some kind of blood-related maid service."

Maes just listened.

"And I used her too," he admitted slowly, only realizing it himself for the first time. "I let her take care of me, let her kiss me, let her do everything she did because I wanted it, and then, when she needed me, I went away."

Maes sighed, serious for once in his life. "Everyone needs someone to lean on, Roy. Even those you lean on the most. A pillar needs a foot and a ceiling to hold it in place."

It was too damn wise of him to say that. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. "And now she's here."

Again, Maes said nothing.

"Well, if she's here, there's only one thing I can do for her."

"What's that?"

"Recruit her."

"Why?"

"So I can keep her where I can keep an eye on her."

"How would that help her? More than likely, she'll end up worrying about _you._"

Roy realized that was all too true. "Well, at least I'll be able to watch her. Not knowing what she's doing...worrying about her..."

"It would kill you."

"Yeah."

Maes looked at his friend carefully and then smiled. Selflessness was a beautiful justification, he though, before nodding his approval. "All right," he said. "You do that. Transfer her. Watch over her as she watches over you. What is it you alchemists call it?"

Roy smiled. He was rubbing off on his friend. "Equal exchange," he said, liking the sound of that.

**a lot of these are going to be mostly dialog, since that's how the manga is written. a lot is revealed through snippets of missed conversation, and i'm just filling in the blanks here :) tell me if i get boring, because its so easy to do when writing just conversation.**

**as always, don't break my heart, leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**sorry for the late update. for some reason, i couldn't get the document to upload...some sort of glitch on part, not mine, i think, since i did nothing different than usual. anyway, here it is...part 4.**

I leave my daughter to you, he thought. Well, he had done a fine job of that, now hadn't he? Leaving her alone, while she was vulnerable after her father's death. That was what a stupid man would do, and he fit the bill too well for comfort.

Damn it, he thought.

The way she had looked when she came into that room, the way she had looked when had found him dead.

There was shock, there was fright, there was so much emotion—but there was no sorrow. She was sorry, but she was not sad.

And underneath all of it, he could have sworn there was a flicker of relief.

She was free.

Or so he told her as he unzipped the dress she wore to the funeral, his fingers running over her bare back. He had the horrible urge to kiss her skin, to run his mouth against the burned array, to memorize it with his tongue. But he let himself be content with just touching her gently, his brain storing what he needed to know.

She sat frozen before him, her eyes closing softly at the touch of his hands. She was frightened, her muscles locked into place, and yet there was something else there too. He wasn't hurting her…in fact, his hands were horribly gentle, running over places that she had never thought could be touched in this way. She bit her lip as he gently zipped her dress up again and turned her around.

"Thank you," he had said, and she had only leaned in and kissed him.

He was surprised…much more surprised than he should have been. Her mouth was warm on his, more innocent than her eyes had been all this time, and he could barely keep his hands on her waist where they belonged. He didn't move with the kiss, only stood completely still, letting her have her way with the softest kiss he'd ever received.

She pulled away slowly, and he watched her pink tongue come out to lick her lips slowly. He gritted his teeth as she opened her eyes slowly, and he pulled her back even as she was about to say something.

The kiss was anything but sweet.

His tongue dragged across her lower lip, demanding she open her mouth, and she did, letting his tongue in. Groaning softly, he let himself explore her, running his tongue over the roof of her mouth, her teeth, her own soft tongue. Her hands were on his chest, halfway between touching and pushing away…oh god, she didn't know what she wanted…

Tentatively, she kissed him back harder, and he accepted it, deepening the kiss as his fingers ran through her short hair, again and again and again, using it to bring her closer, pressing her against him with the other arm, holding her there so she couldn't pull away.

And when she finally did, gasping for breath, he pulled her head back to kiss her throat, grinning at the feel of her soft moan vibrating through her throat to his lips.

He wanted her.

He had wanted her for so long…with her long legs and her amber eyes, watching him like no other girl had every watched him before—there had been something so…sensual about her eyes, even when she was staring him down, he couldn't help but want her.

Her own fingers slipped into his hair, and she pushed him away slowly to look at him. Both their pale cheeks were flushed, their eyes desperate and wild, and slowly, he sighed and let go of her.

His blood was pounding through him, his body was screaming to touch her again, and of all the things to listen to, he chose his brain, telling him to back the fuck away.

"I'm sorry," he offered.

"I started it," she answered. "Why are you the one who's sorry?"

He shrugged quietly, and looked away again.

"I'm still sorry," he said quietly.

She sighed and looked away. There was an odd look her eyes--a stifled sense of hurt that he felt, even though she did her best to hide it. She would perfect hiding her emotions in the next few years. There would come a time when she could have been a serene china doll, for all her face changed. But today, it was all too painfully obvious what was going through her mind.

Maybe...maybe she hadn't wanted him to be sorry. Maybe she had wanted it as badly as he had through these long years of isolation, in a house with a girl who was beautiful as she was tormented, as hungry for love as she was cold to him. And that man, who had driven him as hard as he had driven her, until all he craved was someone to hold and lean against.

He sighed. It wrong, he reminded himself. It was wrong to make a move on a girl who had just lost her father, to kiss her like that when she didn't know what she would do tomorrow. It would be so wrong to call her back now, to tell her...tell her what? That he loved her? It wasn't true. He didn't know her, after all these years of living with her, he still didn't know her well enough to say that he was in love with her. After all, he couldn't say something like that after just two kisses. He could tell her that he wanted her, but that just sounded crude. Biting his lip, he said the only thing that he could.

"Go to sleep," he told her. "It's late."

She nodded, and studied him carefully. His face was unreadable as his black eyes always had been. How was it, she thought, that he could be so much a stranger?

"All right," she said, hesitating for a moment to give him one last chance to call her back. He said nothing. "Good night," she said. "See you in the morning."

"Good night," he said, and over the next few months, he would regret that it was the last thing he said to her for a long time.

He was gone the next morning.

She stood looking at the note, alone for the first time in her life.

_Miss Riza,_

_You know where to find me, if you need me. Otherwise, it's best that I go on with my life, and you go on with yours. I wish you the best of luck._

_Roy_

That was all left, and the address with which to contact him.

How could he?

She stared at the note, not sure whether to feel angry or insulted or depressed.

How could he kiss her like that and just leave?

How could he do that to her? How could he possibly raise her up, and kill her gently?

**hm...that turned out interesting. well. that was blatantly ooc, but hey, i blame it on the fact that they're young and haven't settled into the definite roles they have now. this one was really hard to get down on paper. their relationship is so damn fluid that it takes effort to write them. don't know how the mangaka does it all the time :P**

** if i told you reviews saved pandas, would you leave one:)  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm supposed to be studying for evolution...but...when ya can't, ya can't, so i'm writing instead...**

She did what any sane person would do—she tried to forget him.

The house felt empty—well, it was empty. Completely empty. For the first time in her life, Riza Hawkeye was completely alone.

She did what any sane person had to do—she got a job. It was a stupid job, since the sexist companies in her town felt that all a woman was good for was waiting tables or cleaning things. If she thought she might replace them with work--well, that didn't last. The people at her work didn't like her. She didn't blame them. She wasn't very likable, with her silence, her unbelievable work ethic, and her strange amber eyes.

So many people believed she grew that hard outer shell later in life, maybe when she was in Ishbal, or through the years at the Colonel's side, but it wasn't true. That air of indifference, those cold eyes—they came from that time, when she was alone.

Her father hadn't been the best of fathers, but he had done what was essential. Every month, a check came in his name, a check he would sign and let her have. He let her do as she pleased with the money, as long as there was food on the table. He had rarely harmed her physically, except when he had burned that sign into her back, and even that pain had padded in a while. Mostly, her father hadn't been aware she existed.

But he had kept the men away from her.

Alone now, a young girl with a pretty face and a good enough body and the rumor of a small fortune, she was suddenly fresh meat. They were idiots, of course. Why would a girl with a small fortune work so many hours every week? Why would she walk home in the darkness every night?

And it had been in the darkness that a young man, a little more eager than the rest, had approached her.

It hadn't quite ended in rape, but it had been damn close, and as she slammed the door and leaned against it, her hands trembling, her clothes all but ripped off her, she felt something inside of her she'd never felt before.

Rage.

She stared into space, the anger boiling inside if her, an anger she had never really experienced.

How could he? Her father, well, she had never expected much of him. A man who left his daughter alone as long as the grades were good and the food was on the table wasn't the sort of man one trusted wholeheartedly. She had always been wary of her father.

But the kind of boy who'd stand and talk to her in the kitchen, who'd protest when she drowned the kittens that were unnecessary, the kind who'd walk her to school and take her back again because it was supposedly "on his way" to the bookstore, or he had been buying groceries for her. The kind he heard mutter that she was "she was too damn pretty for her own good…" Well, she'd trusted him.

And he'd left her.

"_Roy?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_Why are you joining the military?"_

_He'd stared off into space, trying to formulate an answer. "Because I love this country," he had said finally. "And because of girls like you who shouldn't have to worry about the world."_

_She'd blushed slightly, always frazzled by his quiet flirtation. "But doesn't that mean that you might be killed?"_

"_If that means a hundred others are safe," he shrugged. "Really, I don't have much to live for. No real family. Even my teacher seems to hate me."_

"_No, Father likes you, I can tell. He sees you."_

_He'd shrugged again. _

"_How is school for you?" he'd asked instead._

What kind of boy would sit and listen to her talk? What kind of boy wouldn't just wave her off?

She stood on trembling legs and sighed. The past was gone. She had to do something with her life. Waiting tables wasn't enough. But first, she needed a way to protect herself, something that would guarantee the boys left her alone…

She knew where her mind was taking her, and only hesitated a moment before moving in the direction of her father's study.

As she entered, she felt the absence of the man who had seemed to be a permanent fixture of the room. She had avoided the place ever since her father's death. It held bittersweet memories. She remembered vaguely her mother depositing her here while she cooked or went to the market. She would sit on a stack of books, and he'd tell her of things that made her eyes wide and her heart skip a step.

But then her mother had died, and he had begun to withdraw. It wasn't even all that bad at first, but slowly, as she was able to take on more and more of the chores around the household, she would see him less and less.

She began to hate alchemy. It was the thing that took him away from her. And so, on her thirteenth birthday, when he had asked if she wanted to start learning from him…she had said no.

She had regretted it for many years after, because if she thought he ignored her before, he now didn't acknowledge her existence.

She was fifteen when he had moved in, and by that time, she had become accustomed to being a shadow in her home. She spoke only in school, and only to answer questions that were directed towards her. Never spontaneously. No one would listen…why would she bother?

The first time he had asked her a question, it had been something mundane, like "Where are the towels, Miss?"

She had stared at him, surprised, and after a moment, answered hesitantly.

He'd taken the response as an invitation, and continued to speak. "Mr. Hawkeye didn't introduce me to you?"

"I'm his daughter," she replied. "Riza Hawkeye."

"May I call you Riza?"

She hesitated, not sure if this familiarity was appropriate, but then nodded slowly. "Yes."

"I'm Roy," he had said. "Roy Mustang."

She'd never know that he'd wondered about her, later, and wondered at what kind of house he had been apprenticed to. What kind of man doesn't introduce his own daughter? What kind of man pretends she doesn't exist?

Shaking her head, she walked to the desk where her father had died, and reached underneath it. There was a rifle there, not a run of the mill shotgun, but a real sniper's rifle, and a brace of pistols. She took all three firearms, and then turned to where she knew the oil and bullets and shells were kept.

Outside, she thought, and walked through the house with the three guns, afraid of them, yet needing their power.

She opened the back door, set down the pistols and started with the rifle. It was long and sleek and despite it being an item of violence and death, there was a certain beauty in its long frame. Elegant, but dangerous, she thought.

She set it against her shoulder, aimed for a tree through the scope, and pulled the trigger.

The kick of the gun jarred her shoulder painfully, and she took several steps backwards. She saw the small puff of the tree to the right of the one she had targeted, and smiled grimly. So it seemed she wasn't quite ready for the rifle.

The pistols felt smoother in her hands. While the rifle had been more dangerous, more powerful, more elegant than the pistols, these were like…companions. Even friends.

She smiled and tried one out.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she sat down and started to dismantle the gun, her fingers hesitant. She memorized the innards, gradually figuring out how the gun worked, and finding new respect for the complexity of it.

Gritting her teeth, she unclicked what she would later learn was the safety, and fired again.

To her surprise, there was barely a kick, but the aim was much more off without the scope and the long barrel to steady the shot.

Frowning, she emptied the gun, and then tentatively reloaded.

Determined to take care of herself, for once in her life, she shot again, and again, and again.

"You won't hurt me," she hissed under her breath as she reloaded the rifle. "No one will hurt me."

And the next time she was walking home alone, and a young man approached her, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and aimed it steadily at him.

"Don't you dare," she said quietly.

"You carry guns?" the boy had asked, his voice incredulous. "Those things could kill you!"

"No. They can kill _you_. But only if I want them to."

They'd left her alone after that, and all she had were her guns and her solitary house. The eccentric young woman who worked a menial job, spoke to no one, and carried a brace of pistols at all time. They were slightly afraid of her. And she preferred it that way.

**Well, it's been a while since i updated, but it's a long one, so enjoy...and please leave a review. no, they don't save pandas, but they save me from insanity :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**hey, y'all. sorry for not updating for a while. I had finals and planning meetings for the volunteer coordinator position that i landed (its a volunteer position itself, but it's still pretty awesome) and work. but now school is out of the way, which means i'll be more regular again. this chapter is long though, as an apology...**

She had listened with sympathy when the Elrics had told of leaving their home. It was difficult, although it might have been more difficult for them than for her. After all, they had Winry, and that old lady that took care of them, their mother's grave, and thousands of happy memories of childhood.

She had been surprised, though, to hear they had burned their house. She hid a smile, recognizing how inappropriate it was in the middle of this pathetic story. It was so like Edward to be melodramatic about everything. Unlike him, she'd never felt the need to burn anything when she left. But she had merely packed very little, set off, and never looked back.

All that was left there was old furniture, too many books, and bad memories.

She had ordered the more important things shipped to her, and they still lay in her apartment, packed tightly into boxes she was afraid to open, for fear that they would bring back memories she didn't want. She went back once a year, on the date of her father's death, laid flowers on his grave like the dutiful daughter that she still was, and for the rest of the year, pretended she didn't know that house existed.

She had left for a reason, after all. It had been small, but like a bullet, it had hit her with the force of a lifetime's worth of denial.

She had been waiting tables when she heard her name. Riza had looked up to find a girl smiling at her. She rarely made eye contact with her customers any more, finding they preferred it to her haunting gaze. The girl was blonder than she was, and pretty, in a cute sort of way. Not elegant, but fresh and smiling.

"Emmy," she had said. It had been the first word out of her mouth that was strictly non-business for many months.

"How are you?" the other girl asked.

And she was at a loss. A simple question like that, and suddenly, she had no idea what to say. "Fine," she said at last, but the pause didn't go unnoticed.

"I heard…I heard you'd gone insane," said Emmy, her voice hesitant, her eyes asking Riza for a denial.

Riza tried a smile, and realized how unfamiliar the shape had become. It obviously didn't turn out the way it was supposed to, since the crease on Emmy's forehead only deepened.

"I think…I'm sorry," she blurted out, her manicured hands playing with the paper napkin.

Riza looked surprised, a genuine expression. "For what?"

"I heard your father died. I should have come to see you. Forgive me."

Riza shrugged. "It's all right," she said quietly.

Emmy had been one of the few who had actually tried to reach out to her. She had thought the blonde was intelligent, and more importantly, pretty. There was something funny about her, of course, but she had tried.

And she had failed. It took more than a smile at school to draw an ignored girl out of her own world.

"I figured you had that boy…what was his name?"

"Roy."

"Yeah, him."

"He's…gone," Riza said softly.

Emmy blinked. "You're not living in that house all alone, are you?"

Riza shrugged again.

"Riza, you've got nothing here. Get out of this town." Emmy's face was serious. "No family, no best friends…seriously, why are you still here?"

She'd gone home that day puzzling over the question. Why was she still here? Working at this pointless job, making barely enough to scrape by…what the hell was she still doing here?

Why had he left?

Her face fell slowly. Why had he left her here, alone? Why hadn't he called even once? Why hadn't he written her a single letter while she was waiting for him?

And it suddenly struck her.

She was waiting for him, wasn't she? She refused to believe that the boy who had brought her out of what she hadn't known was hell could leave her behind in it again. She was waiting for the answering machine to pick up his voice, or for the mail-man to hand her a letter in his writing.

Damn it.

She was waiting for him.

She sighed and unlocked the door, closing it behind her with barely a sound. Slowly, she took her work clothes off and slipped into a robe.

It was late, she thought, touching the worn paper on the fridge. He would surely be asleep by now. She sighed.

The next day was one of her few days off. She took one every week, and usually spent it doing chores that she had ignored, like the leaves that piled up in the grass, or the dishes she didn't clean. She cooked for the week, she mended, she did laundry. These were chore days. But most importantly, she spent it in the backyard, shooting a target she had painted, or leaves falling from trees if she wanted to practice on something in motion.

By now the kick of the rifle felt right against her shoulder. She reveled in the feel of it, in the sound of the small explosion, and the bullet hitting home. The pistols aim had gotten better. She could shoot well. She knew she could shoot well. It was easy for her, with her steady hand, and her sharp eyes.

But today, she sat idly, staring at the phone number on the fridge.

No excuses, she thought to herself. "Do it," she whispered, and jumped at the sound of her own voice breaking the silence.

Slowly, she picked up the phone.

"Do it," she whispered again, and her fingers dialed the numbers slowly.

"Military Headquarters, how may I help you?"

"Um, hello. I—" She paused to gather her scattered thoughts. "I'm looking for a Roy Mustang."

"Do you know the rank of the personnel?"

"Um. No, ma'am."

"All right, hold for a moment, please."

She held the phone with trembling fingers, and waited, counting the seconds. In three minutes, by her count, a man answered the phone.

She slammed it down, panting as if she had run several miles.

She sat still for a few moments, and then picked up the phone again.

Her trembling fingers redialed the number. To her dismay the same woman answered.

"Military Headquarters, how may I direct you?"

"Hello, I'm looking for a Roy Mustang," she said again.

There was a pause in the line. "I'm sorry, did you get disconnected?"

Oh, thank god, she thought, and simply agreed. "Yes, ma'am."

"Let me retransfer you."

"Thank you."

The transfer was quicker this time, since the woman knew the extension.

The man answered again. "Hello?"

Her heart beat faster. "Hello?"

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

And as quickly as that, her heart sank. It wasn't his voice. "I'm looking for Roy Mustang," she said.

"Ah, Major Mustang. I'm afraid he's not here any more," the man answered.

"I'm sorry. Could you tell him to call me when he gets back?"

"I'm afraid not. He's no longer with us."

She froze. Images went through her mind of Roy's body, mangled somewhere, shot full of bulletholes, or smashed by an alchemist, or blown up by bombs.

"He's no longer in my company. He was transferred to Ishbal around a week ago."

She nearly cried in relief. "Is there a number I can call?"

The man sounded amused. "Young lady, we are talking about a foreign country in the middle of a war. Do you think we have forwarding numbers? There's only a few military lines that are defended rigorously, and those are not for public use. Are you a family member with an emergency?"

"No, but—"

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to write him a letter, just like everyone else. I'll warn you though, the mail's very irregular to the lines."

"I see," she said quietly. "Well, can you give me the address anyway?"

"That I can do," he said. "You'll write to the military, address it to him, and they'll forward your mail. It could take a month or two for him to get it though, and then another month or two for him to get back to you."

"I can't have his direct address?"

"I'm afraid you'd have to be military personnel to be able to do that."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Also confidential, my dear."

"Oh. Well, give me that other address then," she said softly.

"All right, have a pen?"

"Yes."

And it had begun. That week, she spent every spare moment composing the letter, agonizing over small details he'd barely notice. Her rational mind told her to send it, but she held on to it, as if she were afraid to contact him.

The next week, on her day off, she finished it and sealed it just as the door rang. Curious, since no one ever visited her, she opened the door to find a man in a blue military uniform.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Mr. Hawkeye."

"I'm afraid he's not here. I'm his daughter Riza Hawkeye. Is there anything you need?"

The man paused, surprised, and then took a good look at the daughter. Short hair and pants were rare enough on a country girl, especially a young one, but the pistols on her thighs and her lean figure combined with the fact that this address was the residence of another military member led him to what he thought was obvious.

"May I come in?"

"Of course," she said, by now confident in her skills to protect herself.

She served him tea, and he slowly began. "Miss Hawkeye, I speak to you military personnel to military personnel."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I was here to recruit your father into the military, since he's a state alchemist. Being a member of the military yourself, I thought you might be able to speak to him—"

"I'm sorry, but I think you've mistaken me with someone else. I'm not a member of the military, sir, and my father is dead."

The shock on the man's face was obvious. He hadn't known. Riza sighed irritably.

"Oh," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. I thought—"

The girl waved her fingers at him, obviously not interested in his apologies.

"Right," he said awkwardly. "I'll leave."

But she was barely listening. It had suddenly occurred to her that there was something that she could do very well—shot a gun. And that skill was highly prized by the military, where not only would she be able to earn more money and get out of this town, she'd be able to find him. And if she could just speak to him…maybe she could get him off her mind. It would be simple. Either she could see that he didn't care, and she'd walk away with no doubts in her mind, or she'd realize that he still cared for her. Either way, she could quit and live her life.

She'd be free of him, either way.

She understood how hard it had been for the Elrics to leave their house, even though there was nothing left for them there. But she had no reason to burn her house when she left, not even for the symbolic pride it would bring her. She didn't want to come back. She didn't want to die slowly in this place any longer.

She felt a sense of joy fill her as she walked the road away from that old mansion. She had a pack on her shoulders, the rifle on her back, and the pistols on her legs—she had everything she needed to live.

It had been time to move, no matter which way. And as she left the place that had never quite been home, she realized something she would remember for the rest of her life. Better to move and make a mistake, than to stand still, dying slowly inside.

**well, there it is... i've tried to go back somewhat to the dialog, but its an in-between piece. next chapter will be rehash of the manga, and then we'll be back on track...phew...as always, review! my sanity meter is filling slowly, and it runs on reviews... :p**


	7. Chapter 7

**sorry it took so long. i couldn't decide what to write for this chapter. i finally settled on the following--extreme spoilers for Ishbal, btw. like frame by frame spoilers...**

Atop an abandoned building, Riza adjusted the scope on her rifle, pausing momentarily to toss the bangs off her forehead before looking through the scope again.

She'd never gotten around to mailing that letter to Roy, instead finding pride in what the academy called her "natural sniper abilities." It was the first time she had ever been praised for doing something right.

Her job, after months at the military academy, was not a difficult one. As a cadet, she wasn't allowed yet on the front lines. Yet, this was more than she had signed up for. Much, much more.

Her job was to kill people

Somehow, she hadn't thought of that when she had enrolled in the military. She hadn't thought of it while the targets looked like men, or while she had been taught how to kill a man in a thousand effective ways. It was just information. Cold information that had nothing to do with watching a man's organs explode out of him as a bullet ripped him apart.

But sitting atop an abandoned building, waiting, she was acutely aware of what she was doing.

It was difficult work, sitting on a building watching, being completely focused for hours at a time, holding the rifle till her shoulders ached. And that was just the waiting. She had been taught to watch for movement, to the point where her peripheral vision encompassed a full one-eighty degrees, a useful trait for a sniper. But the problem here was that _everything_ was moving, both friends and enemies.

Slowly, over the three weeks she'd been her already, she'd trained herself to watch for non-blue movement. Though it was still a lot of things moving, it narrowed down her search. Otherwise, it was just a matter of luck, she thought, but her record of kills said otherwise, showing that she averaged nearly three times as many hits as her fellow comrades.

There.

Something brown as earth stirred slowly. Riza snapped her rifle into position, sighted, confirmed that it was an Ishbalan, and pulled the trigger. It was an automatic gesture by now, with none of the hesitation that she had faced when beginning. She sighed once more, and made sure she'd made the shot.

She had. The Ishbalan had gone down, a clean shot through the head. She sighed, and moved her scope to the soldiers the man had been aiming for.

Maes Hughes, she recognized immediately, the glint of the glasses and distinctive facial hair identifying him immediately.

She caught something at the edge of the scope that made her heart stop for a moment. She refocused, and…there it was…

That hair that she knew, black and always a little messy, those dark, slightly slanted eyes, that face that, despite being haggard with lack of sleep and stress, remained stubbornly round. Her hands trembled for the first time since she had picked up her guns, and she set the rifle down.

He was here.

* * *

She was here. 

It had surprised him, when Maes had used those words. "Eyes of a hawk," he said, and immediately, he was in a different place, coaxing a smile out of a somber, amber-eyed girl.

He shook his head. No, he said to himself. No.

He was an idiot. He was an idiot for letting himself touch her, for letting himself return that kiss.

He still dreamed about that kiss, about her hands, her fine blonde hair.

Hawkeye, he thought slowly. And then smiled. It would be crazy, to think of that shy, timid girl here, in the military. She'd die.

They walked back to camp together, talking about nothing in particular, until Maes suddenly ran forward. "Yo! Thanks for before! You're the one who shot that one, right?"

It was a smaller hooded figure, and Roy felt a vague sort of interest at who might have saved them.

The woman stood, looked at him from under the hood, and then slowly pulled it back.

"It's been a while, Mr. Mustang," she said.

He froze.

And there she was.

Her voice was lower than he remembered it, but just as quiet and smooth. Her hair was still golden, though it was dirty from lack of care. And her eyes…those beautiful amber eyes that used to light up when he made her laugh…her eyes had changed.

"Or should I call you Major Mustang?"

It reminded him that he hadn't replied yet. Was she mocking him, calling him Mister and Major? Her eyes had trapped him, angry and empty at the same time. What had life done to her, to make her like this? What had he done to her, that she could look at him, and call him something as formal as Major Mustang?

And then it struck him.

He'd left her...alone...

His face changed immediately, as realization hit him.

"Have you begun to remember?" she asked quietly.

Surely being alone couldn't hurt a person as badly as this? Surely solitude couldn't change a gentle broken girl into a cold killer?

"How could I forget?" he answered softly. Oh those eyes…how terrible…he thought sadly, trying so hard to find a spark of emotion in those cold, dark eyes. Even this girl, this girl who I had remembered to be sweet and beautiful, timid and eager…even this girl has gotten a killer's eyes…

And then he did the only thing that he could. "Walk with me," he said softly, and led her out to the unforgiving desert, ignoring Maes' questioning eyes.

They walked together in absolute silence, both waiting for the other to start. Riza felt all her hopes slowly fizzle out of her.

"Why are you here?" he said finally, and her last hopes died. It wasn't the response one got from a man who cared about her in any way. He hadn't begun with "How are you," or "I missed you." Why are you here? It was the question one asked an unwanted guest.

She didn't answer.

He tried again. "How are you doing, without your father?"

"I…I hated my father," she said softly.

Great, he thought angrily. Remind her of him, why don't you? He turned his face away from her, suddenly catching the word he hadn't noticed. Hated? Since when did Riza hate anything? Since when did she dare to hate someone like her father?

She caught the question in his eyes and answered it the only way she knew how. "Because the sight of him absorbed in his research was as if he were possessed by something."

She paused and arranged the words in her mind. Suddenly, everything between them, everything that was left unspoken was all right for now, because for the first time, she had felt a suffering greater than her own. She had felt the suffering of an entire people, and compared to that, her hurt seemed petty. "But still, I believed in what he said, that alchemy would bring happiness to people." _I hated it, but I believed in it. I believed the look in your eyes when you told me of the great things alchemy would achieve. _She had stopped again, because the girl she had been still wanted to know...why did you leave me? That girl inside, still hesitant, still angry at him, wanted to shake the answer out of him. Yet she had suddenly become caught up in a differerent question, one that she had never imagined to be as important as it was. She struggled for long moments, before she finally chose one.

Finally, she asked him what was more important than herself. "Major…why are soldiers who protect citizens killing them instead?"

And finally, she let herself look at him. Why am I doing this, her eyes asked him.

"Why is alchemy, which ought to bring happiness, being used for murder?"

He only heard the question underneath. Why are you doing this? She was asking him. Why are you doing this, after all your words of protecting the people so girls like me wouldn't have to worry about anything?

And he had no answer.

He only walked away from her, suddenly not only sad, but ashamed.

He was supposed to be her hero, he thought brokenly, her eyes haunting him even though his back was turned. He was supposed to be the man who saved her from herself. He had told her how alchemy would save the people from harm, how it would bring back the hopes of the people, how it was only for the people, and here he was, killing the people.

And Riza watched him leave, suddenly realizing that the man she had idolized, who she'd set on the highest pedestal she could think of...was nothing more than a confused boy, as fragile as she, as confused as she, thrown into the same mess as she had been, unprepared for what the military meant. She stood there, both her questions unanswered, her life more in pieces than when she had started this journey--for her hero was a human, and she didn't know what to do.

That night, Riza had her first cigarette.

**Whoa, I just realized what a LONG flashback this was. I mean seriously. But we are back to where we started at the beginning of this entire thing. All right, so we all should know that a lot of this comes straight from the manga. And if you don't know, shame on you. I've added some things, of course, such as thoughts, and roy just walking away at the end, but in my defense, as always, its not like it wasn't mentioned that it didn't in the manga, if you get my meaning…it just sorta cuts off. But anyway, i like this chapter, and as always, i appreciate the comments you guys leave...  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**And now, something surprisingly few people have picked up on. Riza said to Roy that she had no relatives when her father died, yet now she has a grandfather? Obviously, not paternal, since his name is Gruman, and not Hawkeye. And so…**

"Grandfather?" she asked, her voice steady, though she herself was more than a little afraid.

The older man looked up at her and smiled quietly. "Come in, child," he said. He was sitting at a desk in a tent, since that was all they had.

"So," he said, looking her up and down. "You are my daughter's child, are you?"

"I believe so, sir."

"And a soldier. I've looked you up. Not an alchemist like your father?"

"No, sir. It's a dirty trade," she said.

The General looked surprised, but chose not to remark on the statement.

"However did you find me?" she asked suddenly. Was it only a few days ago that she was handed that cigarette? What had his name been? Havoc?

"Well…as you can see, I'm not yet an old man, but I'm not getting any younger. There comes a time in a man's life when he wants to see his progeny."

He waited for her to comment, but she said nothing. Her dark eyes were boring into him, uncertain, but demanding an explanation.

"I was so angry," he said a little sadly, "at your mother, for running off with that Hawkeye. And so, I never even came to her funeral."

She remembered that funeral, but only barely.

"But when I saw Hawkeye in a report, the one about graduating cadets, I thought of him. And so I looked you up, and…god, would you believe you look like my Elizabeth?"

"My father used to say so."

"Is he well?"

"He's dead."

Her grandfather looked genuinely shocked. "And you? How have you gotten along?"

"I got a job after he died, and then I joined the military."

"I see. And looking at your records, you're a crack shot. Best shot in a while. You have the record for the exam?"

"Yes, sir. After Father died, I figured I'd best learn how to protect myself."

"I see. Was he kind to you?"

She was silent.

He changed the subject. "Well, you're certainly lovely. I can see why you're in need of protection."

She blushed. "Thank you, sir." It had been a while since anyone had called her lovely...in fact, she didn't remember anyone ever calling her lovely. Even Mustang had only gotten to "pretty," at most. "Lovely" made her feel...elegant, grown up...and a little wary.

"Now, tell me about yourself. I'm assuming you're not married, since you're name is still the same."

"No, sir."

"A boyfriend?"

"No, sir."

He frowned and glanced down at his records. Seventeen, he confirmed. Surely a pretty girl her age should be attached by now? Or at least that was how it worked when her mother was growing up. "And your friends?"

"None, sir."

He looked surprised. "Well, do you at least have hobbies?"

"A few."

"Like?"

"Reading, sewing a little, cooking a little."

"I see. Not guns?"

"Guns are my life, sir, not my hobby."

He looked at her with a pained expression on his face. "Could you address me as grandfather or something?"

"Yes, Grandfather, sir."

He sighed. Well, he'd let it go for now. "How did you grow up?"

She shrugged. "Well enough. Father made sure that I got a decent education after Mama died."

"Did you love your father, Riza? Tell me that he was kind to you."

Again, she avoided the question by saying nothing. Instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He cleared the pens off an ashtray and pushed it closer to her. She lit it and laid the cigarette down on the tray. "I don't know," she said, watching the smoke curl out of her mouth.

"How are you taking the war?"

"What?"

"I mean, how are you liking killing people for a living?" his voice was deadly serious.

She hesitated.

"Come now, tell me the truth."

"I hate it, sir."

He smiled. "Good girl," he said. "I would have not been able to like you if you had said you enjoyed your profession.

Her shoulders sagged, and it surprised him to see a girl like that break down so suddenly. "Then why are we here?" she whispered, and for a moment, he could see all the pain in her life.

"Because someone has to be," he said softly. "And we'd rather be here than our loved ones."

She nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered, and reached for the cigarette again.

He pulled the dish out of her reach. "That'll kill you, you know," he said conversationally. He could handle a minor vice like smoking. It seemed every soldier smoked at some point during their lives.

"I know," she said softly.

"What time do you have to be on duty tomorrow?"

"Oh seven hundred hours."

"Well, you'd best go to bed then."

"Yes." She stood. "It's nice," she said, her voice hesitant. "To know I'm not alone."

He smiled sadly. "Riza?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm sorry, for not knowing." _For not taking care of you, for not being there, for knowing what your father was like, and letting him do what you won't tell me._

Oddly enough, she understood. "It's all right. You know me now."

"And I will get to know you more. I promise."

She smiled for the first time during their little meeting. "Yes, Grandfather," she said.

"Riza," he said again, stopping her.

"Yes?"

"It nearly killed me, when she ran off with him."

Her heart skipped a beat. It had been a long time since she'd heard about her mother.

"Whoever it is," he said carefully. "No matter who you love, I will still be there to push you two together. I've only got so much time left in the world you know."

"Sir—" she began to protest.

"No. Listen. I'm getting older…and…I don't want to be alone again," he finished finally, looking up at her carefully.

Her eyes softened at the sight of the lonely man, picking out things she hadn't noticed before. The way his wrinkles were starting to become pronounced, the way his hair was more white than dark, the way his hands were becoming an old man's hands, curled and gnarled.

"Sir," she said, "Me neither." She saluted as she watched the smile spread over his face, and walked out of the tent.

**No Royai, but i think it may explain a few things in Riza's childhood, like why she didn't grow up knowing her grandfather, and why he's insistent on pushing Roy and Riza together. Also perhaps why he's so young of a grandfather and why he didn't come to Mr. Hawkeye's funeral. So i hope you enjoyed, regardless of there not being any Royai in this lil chapter. Remember to review. **


	9. Chapter 9

**yes, yes...it's been a while...be quiet and just read, okay?**

"It's over…" he whispered, taking the gloves off his fingers and tucking them into his pocket. It was sickening and amazing, how easily he'd become used to the feel of them on his hands, to have them covered all the time. It was a kind of sick comfort.

He looked around at the relieved faces, his eyes searching for the one who he had seen constantly, but had yet to approach again. He should have found her and talked to her, but she seemed to have taken comfort in the company of one Havoc. He'd looked him up. As long as she wasn't alone…he couldn't face her again.

It was over, and his goal was set. He could answer her questions now, well…no…he couldn't answer her questions, but at least he could tell her his solutions. He ducked out of the large building where the assembly was called and walked out into the land that would take years to recover from the damage they had done to it. The people…the people would never be the same.

And there she was…a flash of blue uniform in the golden brown sand, her hair nearly blending in. Her white skin shone was like a beacon, among all the tan. He nearly smiled. She must have been the only one here who didn't tan, besides himself. They were a constant shade of sunburnt pink.

"Aren't you going back?" he called out, as a greeting…what a start to a lovely conversation. He was bad at this...he _knew_ he was bad at this.

"Burn my back."

It was perhaps worse than the screams he'd heard here, in this country where he'd left nothing but ashes. Not even blood. Just ashes.

He stared at her. He'd protested. And she'd cut him short.

"If I can't atone, at least so it can't give birth to new flame alchemist!"

He'd frozen at that. There was nothing more that he could say.

The worst part was…he agreed. It was too easy to kill people like this. To literally just snap his fingers and have it be done. There was too much power in that array.

He wouldn't…he couldn't…she was a woman. He'd be doing the same thing to her that her father had done! He couldn't…

"So I can end the bonds to my father. To alchemy."

Could he do that? Erase the power that damn man had over her? To wipe her clean and push her into her own world—a woman rather than a notebook?

"So I can become Riza Hawkeye. An individual."

He just stared at her. Each one of them had the same cross to bear after this. Each one of them would live this nightmare until the day they died. But to take away at least one pain—to undo some of the damage in her soul—he pulled on his gloves.

He trusted himself to do it. That was the most frightening part.

He held out his hand, and whispered hoarsely, "Turn around." It was an echo of the day he'd turned her around and taken the knowledge off her. This time, though he knew it would make the wounds worse, he didn't bother to take the clothes off her. Maybe he didn't dare.

He held out his hand, and to his surprise, it was shaking. He felt so calm, and yet his hands were shaking. It was the opposite of when he'd burn strangers. His hands would be rock steady, but his mind would be screaming at him.

He bit his lip as he carefully arranged the molecules in his mind. A thin layer of pure oxygen, right over the array—no need to get her entire back—and then immediately afterwards, a heavy ring of non-oxygen. Not a single molecule could remain, or the wounds would be too deep. Then he took a deep breath…

...and snapped.

**yes...it's shorter than usual. sorry about that. it was a difficult chapter to write, and i finally just decided on this. leave a review. **


	10. Chapter 10

**it's been a while, hasn't it? sorry about the break...i had a bunch of stuff going on, and i didnt feel much like writing. **

* * *

Her eyes focused fuzzily on the figure in the room. Black boots…blue uniform…her eyes moved upwards. White blob of a face…black messy hair…

"Roy?" She'd forgotten to use his title in her half-conscious state.

His eyes snapped open, and he gave her a tired half-smile. That was about all they could manage these days.

She was on her stomach, she realized, which was why her face was facing the wrong way to really look at him.

"Don't turn around," he said. "You're bandaged."

She frowned. "Major…why…"

"The burns are shallow, but they will scar horribly. I couldn't take you to a medical tent without anyone getting suspicious, so I just brought you to my own place."

The frown remained.

"It's gone, Riza," he said suddenly, using her name properly for the first time. It was a luxury now. Even before, he hadn't said it often. In front of her father, she was always Miss Hawkeye. But now, in a setting where formality was rigidly upheld it seemed all the more intimate to say those two simple syllables.

Her frown turned into a quiet smile of gratitude.

"I…" She stopped. "Thank you. It must have been difficult."

He ignored her, and instead, blurted out—"I want to do something big."

She said nothing.

"I want to be able to make sure it doesn't happen again."

She sighed. There was no reason to ask him what "it" was. "You'd have to be Fuhrer to do that."

"Yes," he agreed. It was easier to say it like this, when her brown eyes weren't judging him.

"I see."

Was that all she had to say to him? He'd unburdened his soul to her, as much as he could ever unburden his soul, and all she could think of was "I see?"

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

He was surprised. "For what?"

"For making you do that. For saying the things I said."

"Do you regret that day so much?" he asked absently.

"That kind of knowledge…it wasn't meant for kids like us," she said, evading his question entirely.

He nodded in agreement. "But do you regret it?" he pressed.

"It doesn't matter whether I do or not. It's happened."

He had his answer. "You're right."

"But I'm sorry…for asking you to do this. I should have just gone and gotten it taken care of somewhere else, at a doctor's office or something."

"No one else had the right," he said fiercely, standing. He had to leave. His head was spinning. "It was my duty. No one else had the right," he repeated, and moved out of the tent.

She didn't turn to see where he had moved to.

"There's pain medication up on the cabinet. Stay as long as you need to, but be sure to take the bottle before you leave."

And then he was gone.

She heard the tent flap close and sighed, slowly getting up. She gingerly sat up, found her coat and put it back on. She found the bottle of pain medication on the table and turned it slowly in her hands. It was prescription stuff—he'd either stolen it for her, or called in a favor. She tucked it into the pocket of her jacket. She wouldn't take it. She didn't need it, but it seemed wrong to not at least accept the gesture.

She waited a few minutes before exiting the tent, spotting her own in the considerably less thick crowd of them. People were packing up—a sudden reminder that the war was over.

She began walking towards it.

_Fuhrer_, she thought, finally letting her mind explore the option. Her Roy—no that wasn't right—the major as Fuhrer? She couldn't imagine it. He was a boy—a generally kind boy, a changed boy, a scared boy, an idealistic boy—but he was a boy in the end.

She lit a cigarette, inhaling slowly and holding it in, savoring the flavor in her lungs. She rubbed the slim cylinder with her fingers, rolling it over and over, careful not to burn herself.

She should quit, she thought. She should get out while she still could, before she was no longer just a cadet at the academy.

One of the other women in the tent shouted at her to take the thing outside, and she merely rubbed the cigarette out.

She'd needed him. All this time that she'd needed him—and now…he needed her. She could see it. Sliding the half smoked cigarette back into the carton, she stood and bent, rolling up her bag and slinging it across her back. The pain seared through her and drove her down to her knees. There were tears in her eyes from the suddenness of it. It was nothing, she thought, compared with the suffering she had caused. Slowly, she took the pack off.

The thought had startled her.

Fuhrer, she thought, sliding her hand into her pocket and coming out with the glass bottle. Her thumb rubbed the glass slowly, leaving a smudge from her dirty hands. Idealistic, useless, blundering boy, she repeated in her head.

But he's better than a cold hearted killing bastard.

Slowly, she unscrewed the top and took a quiet sip. It was bitter, since the military spent its money on guns, and not covering the taste of raw pain-killers. She took another sip, and capped it, not washing out the taste it left.

Was it for him that she would do this?

No, she thought. It was for the country, for the children, for the suffering. For the tortured soldiers, and for herself.

Maybe a little for him. Just partially…

Yes, she admitted. But not just for him.

For all of them.

**i think a lot of people have the perception that riza does all of this for roy, and i don't think that's true. i hope you all got that from this chapter. leave a review...thanks :)**


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